The Coming of Finn

Chapter II

Seven Years Later

Liath barreled wildly through the undergrowth, rough spun garments flapping madly. "Bodhmall!" she called out, straining to sound pleasant. Up ahead, the druidess didn't slow a whit.

Liath's skirts ensnared in the tangles, bringing her up short. "Good mercy," she screamed at the unyielding branches, twisting at her dresses to free them. Then, sweetly, "Oh Bodhmall, dear. Do slow down, please. Faith, you'll be the death of me!" But the druidess hurried on, only increasing the distance between them.

Liath shrieked, "You'll not tell him everything, woman!"

"Everything," Bodhmall tossed off shortly.

Liath bit her lip. "You're an old fool then!" she shrilled. "A silly, simple-witted, goat-nosed!"

The druidess whirled, her face flushed and angry. She flew at Liath. "I'll not listen to it, Liath! Do you hear me? I know what you'll say: he is only a child and too young. But it's no use. Child or not, the time has come! He must learn the whole truth. I have no choice!"

Liath ripped her dusting cap from her head and threw it on the ground. Glaring at Bodhmall, she jumped on it repeatedly, crumpling it in the dust. Tearing a dead stick from a nearby tree, she smashed it on a rock until it was nothing but splinters. She spun in a circle three times and pulled at her hair screaming. Then, she stopped. With exaggerated dignity, she retrieved and smoothed her cap; placed it on her head, coyly tucking at her gray locks. She smiled pleasantly. "If you'll pardon me, then," she announced solemnly, "I think you're an ass!"

The druidess whirled and stormed off through the forest. This time Liath stayed fast on her heels, loosening her tongue as she ran. "What makes you so high and mighty! Maybe I've got a few ideas myself! He's just a child, Bodhmall!"

Bodhmall's eyes turned beseechingly to the heavens. Topping a slight rise, she parted some hanging vines and nimbly slipped among them, threading the tight cluster of trees beyond. The old druidess raised her right hand in a curious formation, the first and fourth digits straight and extended, but her remaining fist closed tightly. Deftly, she wiggled her fingers and mumbled strange intonations under her breath. Suddenly, behind her, the forest seemed to move of its own accord, branches, and tendrils extending, shifting, and lacing. Stubborn Liath, rushing heedlessly, was too slow in reacting. Overly portly for the tiny spaces, its branches and tendrils seeming to lace about her with a will of their own. She was instantly stuck fast.

Indignation and fury lit Liath's features, "How dare you!"

Bodhmall smiled, "Serves her right," she muttered. She hurried on, at last leaving her companion far behind.

The druidess felt a painful tightening in her chest. Not that Bodhmall didn't understand Liath's feelings and even secretly shared them. They had both tried to prepare for this day, but nothing could ease their pain. For seven years, the two women had raised the boy. They had seen him through infancy and toddling, heard his first broken words, and taught him everything he knew. He was a son to them.

She had to press on. She knew it.

The old druidess finally stopped at the edge of a broad, tree-rimmed meadow. Hidden by the forest, she peered out at the youth who, dressed in but a loin cloth, a lance held high in his hand, stood not fifty feet away in the close grasses. She watched him with unmasked pride.

Finn was a beautiful child, a giant of a boy. At seven years old, he was nearly as tall as a full-grown man and growing fast. His hair was long and colored like the barley of late summer; his eyes the blue of the morning sea, and his brow was high and flushed with the sunlit places. In the set of his jaw, Finn favored his father; it was squared and well-defined, with clean, rugged lines. But his large, probing eyes were Murna's. They were quiet eyes, dreamy, yet ringed with the gift of passion.